Undertow (26 page)

“And you don't?” I asked, my voice carrying through the room more loudly than I expected it to.

“That's not what I'm saying—”

“Do you want to be in charge? Is that it?” I badgered, my frustration further mounting. “Fine. I'll lie on my back and you can do whatever you want, okay? But please, please, do it now.”

I saw a brief narrowing of his eyes as I climbed off of him and lay back against the arm of the sofa. While I had his attention, I reached down and placed my hands on my thighs, sliding them up suggestively to the top of my pants, which I quickly hooked with my thumbs and pulled down before he could stop me. Those narrow eyes went wide instantly, taking in all that I had exposed. Only a tiny piece of cotton separated him from what I could see he wanted.

His resolve was fading quickly.

“I want you,” I purred, arching my back slightly to entice him over.

He accepted my invitation.

Sliding me down with one quick tug, I was soon flat on my back with Decker hovering over me cautiously. He looked torn—torn between what his body wanted and his mind needed. Sex versus confirmation, and it looked like sex was going to win. He leaned down close to me, his eyes searching mine before they searched my body instead. He moaned lightly and his arms flexed. I knew that pose. I had seen something similar from him before, back in the motel room when he had gathered his wits about him to keep himself from giving into what he desperately wanted. Sex was suddenly losing the battle.

“You're acting strangely and I want to know why,” he demanded, lowering his face to mine.

“You're leaving tomorrow, Decker. I wanted to make a night of it, you know, be with you in a way you could remember me by.”

“I couldn't forget you if I tried, Aesa,” he said softly, brushing his lips across my mouth before they landed there, kissing me gently.

“Then give me this,” I begged. “Give me this one last time.”

Again he pulled away from me, that inquisitive look I'd grown to love and hate pinned on me with great intensity.

“Last time . . . ?”

“You know what I meant,” I deflected, brushing off his all too valid concern like it was nothing but a poor choice of phrasing. Before he could further investigate the issue, I reached up and tangled my hands in his hair, urging him down toward me. “Are you okay to do this?” I asked him, hoping my medical concern for him would derail him even further from the path I knew he was headed down. The right path.

“Of course I am,” he returned, looking mildly put off by my implication. To further his point, he leaned in hard, pressing himself against me to let me know just how okay he was. “I'm not broken, Aesa.”

“And neither am I, Decker, so stop looking at me like that. I want you,” I said softly, pushing up against his weight to feel him even more firmly. “Give me this . . . ” I reached down, sliding his pants over his hips and down his legs as far as I could, dragging my fingertips slowly up his legs in return. “
Please
.”

“This is not the last time,” he repeated. His words were cautionary—a warning. He wanted to make that point exceedingly clear before he buried himself deep within me, surrendering to the one thing I needed from him most. A final goodbye.

31

The next morning went by quickly. In a whirlwind of chaos, we managed to get Decker packed and to the airport just in time for his charter to Dutch Harbor. I welcomed the distraction, needing something to keep my mind off of what I knew was coming, and, worse yet, what I knew followed that. A part of me felt guilty for not being honest with him about my plans, but if I were to tell him that I was leaving I knew he wouldn't, thereby forcing us into an emotional tug-of-war between our feelings and our needs. I needed to love someone unwilling to continually risk his life at sea because it was a part of who he was. Decker could never be that person, and I wouldn't ask him to try—mainly because I knew he would. Then he would resent me for attempting to turn him into something he wasn't just as much as I would have resented him when he continually left me at home like my father had. Our love was in a no-win situation, and I was the only one thinking rationally enough to see it.

He would see it too, when he returned.

It hurt my heart to think of the pain I inevitably was going to cause him, but I knew it was for the greater good in the end. He would hate me only until he realized I was right. I hoped that wouldn't take too long.

I walked him out to the tarmac, doing my best to enjoy our last moment together and trying hard not to let that truth play across my face.

“Robbie thinks we'll only be gone a couple of weeks before our first offload,” he said quietly, his eyes trained intently on mine. “How much notice do you think you would need to try and meet us up there?”

“I'm not sure. I'm not exactly the hospital's employee of the month. Dr. Lewis already detests me. I'm pretty certain he's not going to go out of his way to accommodate my personal requests, especially if they're on short notice,” I replied, telling him the reality of the situation, or at least the reality that would have been had I still been employed there.

“Will you try?” he asked, running his hand up the side of my face only to get lost in the waves of my hair and linger there.

I nodded tightly, my guilt rising momentarily.

The start of the plane's small engine let us know that departure was imminent. Decker had to leave.

“If I can't see you at offload, I'll see you when I get back. We're going to work like madmen to get this season over with as quickly as possible. Maybe four, five weeks at most.”

“You can't promise that, Decker. You know better, and you know that I know better too. There are no guarantees in crab fishing.”

“You're right,” he replied. “But I can guarantee that I love you. That will have to be enough.”

I leaned in to hug him in order to hide my expression from his analyzing eyes.

“I love you too.” I squeezed him lightly before pulling away. Away for the last time. “You have to go . . . ”

“I'll see you when I get back,” he said, leaning in to kiss me. My lips were light against his as if they'd already started retreating to Boston, leaving him to the Bering Sea. With my face captive in his hands, he pulled away from me to assess my face one last time. “I
will
see you when I get back . . . ”

I smiled up at him and did the only thing I could think of in that moment. I lied.

“Of course, you will.”

* * *

Decker

Something is wrong . . .

I couldn't shake that feeling as I climbed aboard the tiny aircraft. I looked back to see her watching me, her wild auburn hair blowing in the wind. She smiled at me and I wanted to believe it, but I couldn't. It never made it all the way to her eyes.

What I couldn't figure out was if her sadness was creating the distance I felt, the barrier that held her back, or if it was something else—something far more unsavory than that. I had always been able to read and understand Aesa, but on that day I couldn't, and I nearly drove myself crazy trying to. I thought about everything she had said and done from the time she found out about Robbie's intention to hire me and my decision to take the job. I knew I had seen a change in her then, but knowing all that had just happened to her—all she'd witnessed and suffered—I thought she was just protecting herself. I didn't think she was pulling away.

Not all the way.

But as I flew across the water, a nagging feeling gnawed at me until I couldn't stand it any longer. I had made up my mind. I was going to turn around and go back to Anchorage with the intent to confront her. Her behavior needed explaining, and I wasn't going to settle for anything less than full disclosure.

With my plan set, I anxiously awaited our touchdown. Once we did, I turned on my cell phone, intending to call her and tell her that I was coming back. There was a text message flashing on my screen when it finally got service.

Put a call in to human resources. Looks like I might get time off more easily than I thought. See you in two weeks :)

The tension in my chest that had been growing eased with those three sentences. I wondered if I was misreading the situation. Maybe she was trying to hold herself together to appear strong for me, even though I didn't need her to be. Maybe she was just struggling to accept the choice I'd made in light of all that had happened. Either way, it seemed as though she was doing what she did best when uncertain of what to do: she planned and organized. It was precisely how she coped. I took it as a good sign.

Texting her back, I let her know I had arrived and was on my way down to the dock. I also told her I loved her. I'd never felt that way about another person in my life, and I doubted I ever would again. At twenty-eight, I had somewhat resigned myself to the solitary life that a crab fisherman was destined to have. It rarely, if ever, bothered me. Meeting Aesa awakened a part of me that had long been ignored, and I never wanted to give that up—couldn't give it up. Knowing that I would never have to made me smile as I hopped into the truck with Robbie, headed back to the other love of my life.

The sea.

32

Aesa

Indecision—his face was riddled with it. The subtle confidence it normally wore was displaced by a look of concern as he looked back at me from the entrance to the plane. He knew something wasn't right; that was plain. Knowing that he would analyze the situation for the entire flight, I had to assuage whatever worries he had, though they were founded. He was destined to figure out the truth.

I had no choice but to feed him more lies.

Waiting nervously for what seemed like forever, I collected my belongings at the hotel suite and got everything in order for my trip. I had so much to do before I could leave, but I needed to find an outlet for my growing unease. If he didn't get my text, or worse yet, didn't believe it, what would he do? Would he come back? Trap me in a lengthy phone conversation until he was satisfied with my answers? I had done a satisfactory job of convincing him that all was well for the better part of our goodbye, but there was no way my acting skills could endure a full-on emotional ambush without cracking. He'd broken me in my father's kitchen not too long ago. I had no doubt that he could do it again. It was easy enough to do when my emotions were allowed to drive my decisions. He would create the perfect scenario to let them free. I needed to avoid that at all cost or my resolve would likely break. What I was doing was for the best—for both of us. I had to hold steadfast to the plan.

Finally, I received a text in return, telling me that he loved me. That knife dug deeply into my heart, but I yanked it out and threw it away. It was a tiny wound compared to those that I knew would come. I rubbed my thumb along the screen of my cell phone, memorizing that final text—the last communication I'd ever have with him. There was no halfway in what I was about to do. I needed to sever all ties, making it impossible to cave or give in to an emotional outburst later on.

I started by destroying my phone.

Decker

Life on a crab boat could be a lonely place when part of your heart was left back on land. Work was ample distraction for the first week; I only had the opportunity to try calling her once. Her hours at the hospital were long and varied. I wasn't surprised when she didn't answer. But by the third and fourth unanswered message, I started to get concerned that something else was at play, remembering her face the day I left. There was a sadness in her eyes that looked out of place, and I finally sorted out why. It wasn't the sadness of goodbye. It was the sadness of guilt.

Two nights before our scheduled offload, I called her multiple times. Each time, the recorded message informed me that the number had been disconnected. The frozen seas around me raged as violently as I did internally. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, I couldn't get to her—reach her—to talk some sense into that jumbled mind of hers that I knew was once again lying to her.

It did that far too often.

Aesa

I loved Boston, its old-world charm winning me over almost instantly. Despite its location on the water, I found myself instantly at home there. The Atlantic Ocean and I didn't have history. The only thing in common between it and the sea I loathed was salt and fish.

My apartment in the old part of the city overlooked Boston Common, and was both elegant and romantic while at the same time extremely practical. I rarely needed to drive, learning quickly to utilize public transportation. However, I did purchase a vehicle for traveling outside the city and the occasional running-late-for-work day. I hated to feel ill-prepared. I hated being late even more than that.

I fell in with the ER staff easily, quickly coming to enjoy my time with them and my job even more so. It was challenging, thrilling, and kept my mind off of Decker until it could heal enough to move past the aching sense of loss I felt when it was quiet. Thankfully, there was no shortage of emergencies in Boston.

My free time was limited, but whenever I had some I would always find myself down by the docks watching the lobstermen unload their catch. It was fascinating to see something that should have been so familiar to me seem so foreign. When their day was done, they docked their boats and went home, ready to repeat their routine the next day. It was the closest a fisherman could ever come to a nine-to-five job. If only I had grown up there. I wondered what my life would have turned out like then.